


An Alphabet in Skin

by paperwar



Category: Ookiku Furikabutte
Genre: Asian Character, Bullying, Chromatic Character, Chromatic Source, Gen, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-25
Updated: 2010-09-25
Packaged: 2017-10-12 04:54:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/121016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paperwar/pseuds/paperwar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It started in junior high, of course, after their first loss.</p><p>TRIGGER WARNING for self-injury. Please read with care.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Alphabet in Skin

**Author's Note:**

> Anime canon, spoilers for the end of the second season.
> 
> The title is from the poem ["Scars"](http://www.endicott-studio.com/cofhs/cofscars.html) by Munro Sickafoose.

It started in junior high, of course, after their first loss. Despite the warning signs during practice, he took the mound brimming with excitement. When the game fell apart around him, quickly and irretrievably, he didn't understand. Maybe if he tried to improve his communication with Hatake? He could feel the team coalescing around him, against him, with rage. Dazed, he changed hastily in the locker room and crept out under the glares of his teammates. He took another shower at home, even though he didn't need one, shedding his clothes and slipping under the hot water without conscious thought. One moment he was soaping up, the next he was pounding at his thighs with his fists. There was a moment of hesitation, like his brain couldn't quite give him permission, but it made sense: the release, the rightness it gave him. This self-punishment was, he felt, both just and cathartic. Tears weren't yet as quick to come to Mihashi as they would become in later years; this strangeness took its place.

**

Pinching was an acceptable alternative to punching, and had the benefit of being easily hidden. Before a game, when Hatake was leading the others in taunting him -- Kanou looking away but making no protest -- it was simple for Mihashi to stand, arms crossed, one hand casually placed just inside the sleeve of his other arm. By this point he knew that tears were a weakness, gave the others another weapon. Pinching his arm hard enough to bruise allowed him to focus on something else. It was a door behind which tears could be locked.

**

Back at home after a game that had been marred by unusually severe viciousness, Mihashi threw himself on the bed. He wrapped his arms around himself, part comfort and part reminder that he existed inside that numbed physical shell: sometimes it didn't feel like there was anything outside the noise of his own thoughts. He gasped and struck out, scratching long harsh gouges down one arm with his fingernails. Blood welled up, tiny red dots the entire length of his arm. He paused to stare at the jagged lines, then sucked in another breath and did it again.

But the problem with scratching was that people noticed. And Mihashi couldn't bring himself to concoct a lie about his family getting a cat. He didn't think anyone would believe him anyway. So he tried to wear long sleeves or hide his forearms when people were close enough to see. On the mound it didn't matter so much; no one was within range, and it wasn't his arms but what he was doing with them that garnered attention. But afterwards, and in class, he'd been on the receiving end of polite, puzzled queries that grew more perturbed as Mihashi floundered out an explanation that didn't make sense. So he returned, for a while, to the tactic of punching himself in the shower. Bruises were unremarkable for anyone on a sports team. Or he could imply he got jumped. The way things were -- his ostracism by the team was not unnoticed throughout school -- no one would question it.

Then he discovered pushpins. Pushpins made small, almost invisible circles in his skin, and it was a contest of will to see how far he could force one into his flesh before instinct took over and he jerked the point away. During the break between classes, Mihashi would swipe one off a bulletin board and hoard it until he could escape to the bathroom, where it was easy to enact his private ritual.

**

Mihashi's habit tapered off once he got to Nishiura. He felt like he should take care of his body, was moved to think of it a bit more kindly. It wasn't that those moments of panic, of overwhelming roaring in his mind, disappeared. He'd succumbed to punching and pinching a few times. But he felt more real, more rooted in the world. Every word of encouragement -- sometimes even praise -- every win, every time someone said his name with a drop of kindness: these things tethered him, solidified him.

After Bijou, he went home and it was a near thing, a very near thing. When they bowed to the other team he was thinking about Abe, but also about calming his inner maelstrom. With scratching, or maybe something else. He could imagine it, the eerie release it would bring. But he went home and he didn't do it. _I'm not that person now_ , he thought desperately. _I'm not._ Abe would yell at him if he knew. And maybe Hanai would notice and tell the coach and there would be an excruciating scene. It wasn't the type of behavior they expected from their ace. Their anger, their disappointment: Mihashi thought that might hurt more.

He tried to breathe deeply and settled for rubbing the skin of his arms a little, struggling to keep the touch from intensifying to a pinch. _You're still there_ , he thought. He wasn't sure if he was speaking to himself or to that little itch inside him that wanted the cuts, the bruises -- the part of him that needed soothing, and insisted this was the way. _You're still there_ , he repeated, and paused. _I'm still here_ , he corrected himself, and stopped.

He crawled under his covers and closed his eyes and thought about that. _I'm still here. I'll be here tomorrow. And the day after. And the day after that._


End file.
